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20140519

A Syllamo To Remember

Greetings and Salutations, Team Seagal JERKfosi. It is I, the
PunchOr of Cock, with a post-Syllamo tale to tell. Our story begins several
months back, when I decided to sign up for the SS category...a first for me for
this event. Turned out to be a very wise decision. After accepting the advice
of several teammates, I wisely swapped my normally very adequate 34t chainring
with a moAr Arkansas friendly 32t. Smooth move, ExLax. Now running 32X20, I
felt at least somewhat prepared for what Satan's little section of the Bible
Belt could dish out.

Fresh brake pads, fresh Stans and fresh
gearing had my attitude in a very Superior state. After much work related
bullshit was put behind me, I met up with our newest Soldier, Czech "Pohodar" (that means BADASS),
Adam Rybar, and our chauffeur, Loreen. We met at Loreen's office in South
County, which meant my radio was tuned to KSHE for some fuckin' Skynard, the
T-tops were off and the hi-tops were on. The sun was shining and much
excitement was in the air. Upon making the gear & bike exchange to Lo's
Suby, we paid a quick visit to the latrines and hit the road for the five-plus
hour journey Southwestward.

Our first stop was a visit to Route 66
Bicycles in RollOrz, where we, along with the PROprietOr, Dan FuhrmOrnn,
discussed the lack of trail maintenance and likelihood of horrid conditions
(100% chance of shit) we were to encounter. We then stepped outside to admire
FuhrmOrnn's rock garden.

Those rocks are as prevalent as frightened children at
Criss Angel's pool party.

Departing RollOrz, we motored on Southward
on highway 63, which is like theGreat Silk Roadfor meth trafficking. By the time we
made it as far as West Plains, a pit stop was in order to fuel up with Casey's
General Store pizza and to beef up our Juggalo count.

The "woman" driving this rig had as much metal in her
face as thislittle
trollop. So we topped off with gas and hit the roAd once moAr.

We arrived in "downtown"
Mountain View to pick up our lightly swagged out registration packs, complete
with t-shirts made from the excess inventory of highway worker uniforms. These
things are brighter than the asses of little boys in Criss Angel's dreams. Two
Hammer gels, a bunch of literature and one ugly ass shirt. If that’s not worth
the price of admission, I don’t know what is!

On to our home for teh night,Sarah's Cabin. A lovely little
cottage and a bunch of JERKS to share it with. The residents for the next
couple days were: PunchOr, Rybar, Lo, The Reverend Storve FriOrdmOrn, Dave H,
Rob L and ChristOrine FOrd, all the way from Iowa CitAy.

Upon arrival at the cabin and taking the
bike down from the roof, my rear brake hose decided to simply fall out of the
lever. I believe this is what one refers to as "Avid breaks." My once
Superior Attitude quickly became decidedly less so. However, having a bunch of
very Superior cabin-mates, we quickly ASSembled a plan.....a trip to RURAL
ARKANSAS MAL*WART!!! We secured DOT4 brake fluid and a syringe (for the latter,
we probably could have found one in any of a number ofvacant
propertiesnearby).

Got back home and set about fixing it. Not really fixing, because
I still have Avid brakes, but Dave got it to at least get me by pretty well. It
required a lot of pumping....not unlike a typical evening at the Criss Angel
Summer Camp for Wayward Boys....but it did the job.

Everyone enjoyed a bit of dinner and a
couple beers before settling down for some non-sleeping. Race day we awoke to
moAr rain, temperatures in the mid-40's, and a lot of people using one
bathroom. We traveled over to race HQ, prepared our minds and out taints for
battle, listened to the promoter describe the dangers and the 'untrimmed-ness'
of the Red Loop, then lined up for the mass start. As we were standing there,
the rain began to fall at a heavier rate, prompting the entire 300+ racers to
scream "Let's fucking Go already!!!" And GO we did....straight up
that 9/10 mile motherfucker prior to the fuck-fest that was the singletrack
entry.

The Blue Loop was, for me and many others,
virtually un-rideable. I honestly think I walked about four or five miles of
the 50 during the race. Moab doesn't know dick about "slick rock."
Get the fuck down to ArKansas after three days of rain and 2/3's of a big MTB
field in front of you....then you will understand slick fucking rocks!

I felt very good after arriving at the
first aids dispensary. I refilled bottles, ate a banana and a Pop-Tart, and
continued on. Upon turning off of the Blue Loop and onto the Orange, I felt touched
by the hand of Energor himself and enjoyed totally ridable trail for several
miles. Reaching the 2nd of three checkpoints, my spirits were lifted, my
Attitude became once again Superior, as did my State of Mind. Once past station
number three, at about the six hour mark, things were actually humming along
quite nicely for me. Met a couple doods from Mississippi and rode with them for
many miles. Then, on the Red Loop, after all that rocky bullshit prior, I
flatted....TWICE in about 7 miles. Fortunately, I had two tubes and was able to
make it to the finish, completing my first Syllamo on SS. I have to say, I am
still pretty sore, but pretty goddamned happy about doing this with so few
miles under my belt thus far this season.

Following my "race," I can't
tell you how much I appreciated Strove walking up and handing me a very illegal
IPA at the finish:

I was fucking spent, but felt great at the
same time.

Back at the cabin, the Reverend StrOve led
us in Bible study:

Following prayer, many tubed meats were
consumed, along with copious amounts of various beers from around the region. I
was able to sit on the pOrch for a brief conversation with an Asian gentleman
and then engage in moAr merriment until passing out at about 9:30pm. A fucking
awesome day.

Up early Sunday morning, we loaded up and
headed home, but not before stopping for the worlds slowest breakfast cook:

While there, I visited the top of Mt.
Kohler, where, as the sign directed me, I left "Warm Apple
Dumplings."

I hope the old dood following me in there
did not OD on the Clif Shot fueled jenkem vapors I left behind.

And, it's worth noting that St. Louis' own Dr. Rich Pierce brought home this nice bit of garden decor:

Huge thanks to Dave H and Adam for the
help with my brakes....I would have been unable to even start without the assistance. A great
time with a bunch of really cool peoples. I hope everyone enjoys a nice
mini-vanning today……….

4 comments:

Jerk!!! I was more entertained than Criss Angel covered in vaseline and smoking crack at the sunday matinee showing of Rio 2 whilst reading your word papers. Syllamo's is one of my favorite racings. Get totally fucked!!